Gabrielle said, “Not me, there are real pirates on the oceans who kidnap you, so it’s dangerous if you’re a lady. I want to be a pilot and fly around the world. I’ll be above all the pirates.”
“Both of you will have to study some more,” Anna said. “The better qualified you are, the better your employment possibilities.” It was a mantra she used often on the two younger children. She smiled as Gabrielle and Niland debated which occupation was better.
Mark said to Scott, “We’ll need to be alert for any further attempts by the CIA or whoever they are. I think it’s me they’re seeking. I doubt they know anything about Reb. They may know that you, Sera, Anna, and the children are Cerberus, but I don’t think it’s their motivation. I’ll see if I can convince the Brits to lend us some handguns.”
“I don’t think you need a weapon, based on your details of the encounter. I suppose it’s possible they could to use the children to get to you. Or they might consider using Anna. We—myself and Sera—will be extra cautious.”
“I can lend you a couple of my knives,” offered Reb, hitching up her skirt to display two knives sheathed on her right thigh. A passing waiter stumbled and almost dropped his tray of dishes. “I’ve got another two on my left leg. And three more—”
“I think you’ve shown enough detail,” Mark chuckled, reaching for another half scone. He covered it with heapings of jam and cream. “I’m glad you didn’t try to wear those onto the plane. We’d be still in Boston, explaining.”
An hour later Mark was ready to request the bill when DI Goodwin approached. “Mark,” she said. “Do you have some time?”
“Why yes, Detective Inspector,” he replied. “Do you mind sitting with us?”
“No, not at all,” she said, as Scott jumped up to arrange another chair. It took a minute or so for the DI to settle into place. At Mark’s request a waiter brought more scones and plates.
She was far more formal today, thought Mark. The happy face Goodwin had used yesterday must be to create the impression that she’s a harmless bureaucrat.
“I’ve heard about your run-in with some intruders,” she said. “We’re assuming they’re Americans, although they might have false papers. I’ll let you know. My men think they’ll all survive. One will require some time in hospital and may require reconstructive surgery. I think you broke a jaw, as well. How are your knuckles?”
“I was in danger of being kidnapped or killed. Or both,” Mark said, rubbing the back of his right hand.
“I understand. Their bosses will send real heavies next time, so you’ll need to be extra careful. I can arrange for additional Cerberus people to help. Ex-SAS. Very good, inconspicuous.”
“Can we carry weapons?”
“I’d prefer not, at least officially. However, someone may deliver a package to you tomorrow. Not from me, you understand.”
“Of course.”
“Now I have two items for you to consider. First, Cerberus management here in London wants to meet with you. Tomorrow, if you’re available?”
“Yes, I can do that.”
“Good. I’ll confirm time and place. Second, this hotel is not the ideal place for us to protect you. You’re exposed. I’d prefer to move you, perhaps to a country house. Cerberus has access to one that is ideal, comfortable, protected. Not too far from London. Once we determine who’s behind this, how dangerous they are, and after we eliminate their threat, we can, if you wish, arrange for your return here.”
“There’s a small task we want to do, first.”
“Oh?”
“As we mentioned earlier, Reb lived in London with some younger children. They’re also genetically engineered. We want to—well, rescue, may be the wrong word—but we’d like to offer them a place to stay with us,” Mark said.
“Do you expect any problems?”
“No. It doesn’t mean there won’t be, though.”
“Very well. Your schedule will be as follows. Remain here tonight and tomorrow night. I’ll have men on guard. Tomorrow morning you’ll meet with Cerberus—just you?” Mark nodded. He noted a movement from Scott, as though the man wanted to join in the meeting, but there was no need for all to attend. Goodwin continued, “Good. The others might like to do some sightseeing. Again, I’ll make sure you’re all guarded. We’ll help you examine the location of these other children tomorrow afternoon. All being well, you can contact them the following morning. In the afternoon, I’ll provide transport and security to move you all to one of our safe house in East Sussex.”
Mark assessed the group’s reaction, while he used a linen serviette to wipe a drop of jam from his chin. “Let’s do it.”
***
Chapter 13
Reverend Barker did not serve the full two years of his prison sentence. The parole board agreed to his early release, because of his good behavior and because the officials were tired of the conflicts engendered by his preaching. He used words that readily set white against black while he stepped back to enjoy the conflagration his words had caused. When his sermons were later examined, he protested with his utmost innocence, claiming he was carrying out the work his ordainment and calling required of him and he had no ability to control the subsequent behavior of his captive congregation.
It didn’t take long for him and his church’s militant arm to find more work on his release, although the tasks were minor challenges. A church, for some mysterious reason, burned to the ground; a store trashed and set on fire, and other misadventures in districts where the beliefs and culture of the local people conflicted with those of Barker’s congregation. On occasion he reflected on his past deeds, examining the more significant challenges God had placed in his path. He regretted the loss of life of his men, killed while attacking the Lifelong lab complex, and he regretted more the fact that the lab specimen had escaped, although he heard he’d been killed later. He experienced anger as well as regret, because that specimen had been responsible for killing seven of his men.
His visitor today reminded him of those losses and of his hatred of Mark Midway. They were sitting in the reverend’s study, only the two of them, enjoying a quiet conversation over a bourbon—Woodford Reserve, the reverend’s favorite. The visitor had introduced himself as Robert McCarr, a dear friend of the late Senator Boothby, a man who had involved the reverend’s small militia in a number of illicit assignments.
“I know you regret your men’s failure,” said his visitor, “and it’s unfortunate Midway is still alive. Not only alive, but adding more of those…specimens to his enclave.”
The reverend spluttered, almost spilling his drink. “Still alive? I thought—I’d been informed of his death. He’s an outrage against God.” The minister managed to restrain himself from thumping the small table where the bottle of Woodford rested.
His visitor nodded. “I had expected action, otherwise.”
“Action? I’ll take action. I just need to know where his enclave is located.”
“I think I can help with that information.” The visitor, his hands gloved against the cold—he was preparing to leave—handed the reverend a slip of paper with a laser printed address.
The reverend’s eyes widened. He emptied his glass. His hands shook as he poured another large shot from the bottle. “Has this been confirmed?”
“Absolutely. A shooting occurred there a week ago. A Chinese diplomat attempted to kill one of his companions. A sibling, I believe.”
The reverend stood. He had lost weight during his incarceration and was proud of his slimmer figure. His pacing now unconsciously matched the diagonal distance of his prison cell. “A sibling? You’ve found more of them? God’s work is endless.” He stopped, almost in mid step. “The Chinese? Why were those heathens trying to kill this—this—specimen?”
“They have their own lab and want to eliminate competing examples of genetic engineering.”
“What? They’re experimenting, too?” The reverend frowned. There was no immediate avenue that would allow him to lau
nch an attack against the Chinese. He settled for Midway. “I’ll talk with my…friends. We may be able to do something about this enclave.” He waved the slip of paper. “It’s distasteful. No, it’s evil, having these devil’s constructs in America.”
“I can help with funding, if you need,” offered the visitor. He smiled his thin smile. “My associates agree with you. They will provide financial support for destruction of Midway’s property. It will be a pity if anyone’s living there at the time.”
The reverend smiled, his lips wet with bourbon. “How much? It’s expensive, doing God’s work. My friends will have to form and equip a team.”
The visitor mentioned an amount. The reverend’s smile deepened. He wrote on a scrap of paper. “This account. It’s offshore.”
The visitor nodded. “I expected no less. The funds will be there within five days. I want the action of your friends to be swift and certain. Be aware, my associates are intolerant of mistakes.” The smile returned, but the reverend did not note its lack of humor. “I must leave you, now. I have other duties to attend to.”
“Yes, yes.” The reverend had begun to plan his next steps. “It’s been a pleasure.” He showed his visitor out and watched as he drove off. “God’s work is always there,” he muttered to himself as he closed the door.
~~~
Mark paced the floor of his room. He was jet-lagged and worried. The presence of three Americans intending to do him harm, had surprised him. The Agency had not troubled him before, although some agents had illegally supported the attack on his parents’ lab. The agents had been either killed or arrested. There had been no indication from the CIA that they wanted revenge. He decided make a call, using encrypted VoIP.
“Schmidt?”
“Hello, Mark. So, the Brits let you into their country?”
“They treated us like VIPs.”
“Really? As you know, we’ve found it difficult if not impossible to get our Cerberus people into Europe.”
“Someone else was less than pleased.” Mark described the intrusion of the three Americans. He concluded, “Did you or Maeve have any indication an Agency attack was pending?”
“No, none at all. You’re fortunate you suffered only bruised knuckles. I’ll check with Maeve’s team, but she usually lets me know if her analysts detect anything. You think you’re safe now?”
“We’re being protected by SO15 and some Cerberus ex-SAS guys. I think there’re four or five on duty tonight, to ensure we get a good night’s sleep.”
“SO15, their anti-terrorism force. I’ve heard good things about them.”
“I think they’re Cerberus—well, a lot of them. I’m meeting with some of the senior Cerberus team tomorrow morning. After that, we’ll research the children Reb wants to recruit or rescue, I’m not sure which. Cerberus is moving us to a safe house. They claim it’s more defensible than the hotel.”
“Send me a copy of their report on the attack. If SO15 have IDs or details of who these people work for, I can pass them on to Maeve for further research.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I get any information.”
“Contact me after your meeting with Cerberus. Maeve and I have been talking about you. Our question is whether you’d be interested in taking full responsibility for the UK operations. Think about it; we can discuss it tomorrow.”
“Interesting. Okay, I’ll think about it. Do you mind if I discuss this with Anna?”
“It’ll be good to hear her reaction.”
“Have you received any lab reports yet? On the parka?”
“No. Don’t worry. Maeve or I will forward results as soon as we have them. I have a meeting in less than five minutes—I have to go.” Schmidt disconnected the call.
Mark closed his laptop. Schmidt had sown a seed that would ensure he remained awake for another hour or two. Should he consider involving himself more in Cerberus operations? He was involved, albeit on a minor basis, because of Anna and the two young children. He had control of Cerberus funds, or at least their non-US accounts. He could either assist or sabotage their operations. He had all his parents’ research materials still had substantial value. The Cerberus files he and Anna had modified could be corrected or destroyed. Gabrielle had somehow acquired or stolen a mobile freezer filled with Cerberus embryos. The freezer unit was locked away—safely, he hoped—until he determined what to do with the contents. He knew what it was like to be genetically engineered. Did he have the motivation, the experience, the ability, to take charge? Should he? These were questions he needed to examine with care before he responded to Schmidt. Mark paced his room.
The distant thrumming of rain on the double-glass layers of the windows and the noise of the wind rattling the tiles reflected his mood. A soft knock on the door from the adjoining room interrupted his reverie. He eased open the door and Anna slipped into his room, closing the door behind her.
“Reb’s asleep,” she said, “and I heard you pacing. Gabrielle told me you were worried.”
Mark blinked. Anna stood very close to him. He wanted to reach out—
Anna dropped her robe.
“I want you to reach out, too.” She placed her hands on his shoulders.
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes.”
Mark wrapped his arms around Anna. He kissed her, his hunger now revealed. She met his need with a hunger of her own. He led her to his bed.
***
Chapter 14
Mark entered the Cerberus UK meeting room. It was more or less a standard conference room with seating for twelve people. The table was oval, highly polished, with small name cards in place. Five attendees were already seated around the table. One, he noted, was DI Goodwin. The others were men, three of whom wore suits and the fourth wore a police uniform. Their formal dress was in sharp contrast to Mark’s winter jacket, polo shirt, and casual pants. There was a card in front of one of the empty chairs. He checked the name on the card; it was his. He sat in the chair. He nodded a greeting and Goodwin returned it with a slight smile. No one else acknowledged his presence.
He had requested assistance from Maeve’s analysts and their research had been comprehensive, their report a far better result than his limited efforts had achieved. He now had a detailed dossier on each of the attendees. Mark wondered whether their research had been as effective; he wondered what details they had discovered.
“Good morning,” Mark said. There were only two reciprocal nods from around the table. “I’m Mark Midway. I’m not Cerberus engineered. I’d also point out you requested this meeting.” He stood and walked to a small corner table where he poured a cup of coffee. He carried it back to the main table and sat, waiting while he sipped his drink.
One of the men spoke. “Now, lad, there’s nowt to get feshed about.” He was older than most of the other attendees, and his British accent was so strong Mark had to listen intently to understand what he was saying. “Yes, we called this meeting. But one thing I want to know—why t’ bluidy ‘ell have you pinched all our money?”
Mark checked the man’s name card. The speaker was Andrew Jeffries. Mark said, “All Cerberus operations in Europe were set up by the American organization. The corporate structure establishes Cerberus US as the owner, whether directly or indirectly, of all Cerberus operations in Europe generally. Is that not correct?”
Jeffries didn’t respond though he did grow redder in the face.
Mark waited, sipping his coffee. No one else spoke. After almost three minutes, he said, “If all you wanted me here for today was to claim I had stolen your funds, I think the meeting is now concluded?”
There was more than a modicum of truth in the claim; he had moved the accounts. But he had not touched the money in them. The funds provided substantial leverage, and should allow him to influence both US and UK operations. He finished his coffee, replaced the cup on the saucer, and pushed it away. He started to stand.
“Mr. Midway, please wait.” Goodwin said. “I think the other members
here do have things to say. Please be patient with us.”
Mark sat back in his chair and waited.
At last one of the other men spoke up. William Nicholson, according to his name card. “Mr. Midway, we’ve been operating without direction for six months or more, ever since the executives went missing. We’ve heard two of the senior US managers ae dead and Dr. White turned traitor and joined the Chinese. We lost contact with the Chairman at the beginning of the year.”
“I think the Chairman might be dead, as well. It’s likely he was killed in January, we think by Chinese military personnel. They sank his yacht.” Mark didn’t mention Reb was an eyewitness.
They all nodded.
Nicholson continued, “We’re not company executives or managers. I’m a soldier by training. The time I’m spending sitting at a desk takes me away from where I want to be—in the field.”
“Agree with that,” said one of the other men, the police officer. His name card identified him as Nelson Cobb.
Mark asked, “How many Cerberus people do you have operationally?”
Goodwin said, “We have about two thousand. We have eight hundred or so embedded in military and law enforcement, and twelve hundred on contracts covering anti-piracy and hostage rescue. Plus we have almost a thousand children of various ages. We have non-engineered lab and child-care employees. They number about five hundred.”
Mark nodded. The details confirmed his assumption that the UK operation was less than half the size of Cerberus US.
Cobb said, “What can you offer us? Can you make sense out of all this and provide a strategy, a focus, for us?” Mark noticed Goodwin smiling.
“Schmidt—I assume you know of him?” Everyone nodded. “He asked me a similar question last night. I haven’t answered him yet. I have a question—I understand you’ve managed to block most, if not all, Cerberus US representatives from visiting the UK. Why?”
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